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i, slipping

February 4, 2019 by Neal

I do not know if the grail was holy
but it seemed the searching was

now I have grown
weary
bedraggled

by the chase
the hunt
the game

I have grown old
and my hinges groan
with rust and disuse

the terror of a smile
sleeps inside my bones

no,
the wind out here does not whisper
only shrieks
only roars
as it rolls above the dead
their follies and
their greed

that I held her
by the fire
beneath the stars
just once
was life enough

but life
like fire
fizzles

wallabies huddle in the tangerine dark

men plant gravestones neatly in rows

the memories of better days are numbered
ordered and
filed away

I know,
I know
there are mysteries yet

life and love
to live,
to die

these wandering feet of mine,
resigned,
will shuffle interminably
down every road

and sometimes there will even be
laughter
staring down the centuries
like this

like this,
right now

oh,
my friend,
my name
at home in your mouth
is all that makes sense
to me

“All right? My DNA contains segments of code virtually identical to the first anaerobic organisms on this planet – the organisms that produced the molecules of air we’re breathing this very minute, as waste. Every atom in my body heavier than helium was forged in those colossal nuclear furnaces we so simply call stars. My consciousness has stretched across time and space in equal measure; vague sentiments – endless and indescribable in breadth and fancy – span thousands of light years, twisting through infinity like the endless arms of a transfigured Hindu goddess. I am a consequence of what was before, an undeniable effect on what is to come. I am both Being and Becoming, a nebulous entity as curious and powerful as the Pillars of Creation; simultaneously no more than a shade, a pawn, a puppet; a mere Undoing and Overcoming. I am the drive that wakes you in the morning, and the thoughts that make you beg for sleep, cloistered in your stuffy rooms. I have heard the echoes of the dead upon the winds of change, and the whispers of coming prophets curling under breaking waves. I have heard the wise men speaking grandly, their arms outstretched, as they blindly bind us to our graves. I have seen the pageant of the Whole, and marveled at the jokes, and wept for all our faults…”